Dead Skin on Trial
by the.eye.does.not.SEE
Summary: "So do you love him? Weller?" Blindspot AU post-1x10. Jane and Oscar go for a drive.
**A/N** : All I wanna do is write #joscar porn, but of course my mind does not agree, and makes me write angsty Oscar and cutesy #jeller stuff instead. Ah, well. Enjoy? Picks up in an AU after 1x10, which is when I started writing it.

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He doesn't say anything for a while that night when they meet up, and she doesn't press him. She knows better—they've had enough midnight meetings like this where she's learned that if she pushes him, he will shut down and cut her off. And the last thing she wants, right now, is to be cut off from her one source of real information about herself and this job she's meant to be doing.

But of course tonight isn't about information, at least not about any information he could give her pertaining to the mission, or to herself. She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been nervous, when she'd gotten the message earlier in the night, excusing herself from dinner with Kurt to go to the bathroom to read over Oscar's request for a meet-up. She could've said no; that option is always on the table. She could've refused to answer him on the burner phone he'd given her months ago; that option was also always there, too. But she answered and she came. She hasn't yet refused him.

She doesn't know why.

Curiosity, sure. A thirst for not only the secret knowledge he holds, but also for the man himself, and what he and she and they used to be, back before she lost her memory and her identity and her entire life.

They don't often talk about that, though; it's painful for him, she can tell, and despite her burning curiosity, she hasn't pressed him much besides the necessary details: _Do I still have a family? Is anyone else looking for me? Could I run across anyone from before that might recognize me?_

 _No, no, no_. The answer is always the same with him. He'd checked all the boxes, crossed all the t's, dotted all the i's. He'd done so on her orders. There was no one left but him that knew her.

Or at least, that's what he said.

And she tends to believe him. The longer she spends in the world, and the more she sees of it, the more she realizes he is likely only doing his job, and answering her questions honestly. Even the other month, when she'd taken a trip to Clearfield with Kurt, no one there had recognized her. They'd walked around a bit, she'd been introduced to the old neighbors that still lived there, but there had not been one flash of surprise, not one _Oh! It's little Taylor, all grown up!_ She had tried not to be discouraged about it—another identity, lost. And, with Kurt next to her, holding onto her hand all the while, she hadn't been. Any disappointment she faced, any setback, any worry, he somehow had a way of making it better, of making disappear, just by being there.

Which is why they'd moved in together.

Just the other day, they'd made it officially official—by moving the last of her boxes from the safe house into his apartment, and by getting her a key, and by making room for her things amongst his so that they weren't so much storing their belongings in the same place as actually entwining their lives. Her pots and pans were mixed in with his in the kitchen, and sometimes he used the towels she'd bought from the safe house instead of his own when he showered, and when they'd made the bed this morning, they'd done it with her sheets for the first time instead of his.

She had smiled so stupidly when they'd done that, so big that he actually stopped switching out one of the pillowcases to ask her if she always liked doing laundry this much. She had laughed it off, not anywhere near ready to admit to something so sentimental to him. They hadn't yet said those three little words she'd heard so much about—though they had gotten close, many times—and she got nervous whenever they neared that territory. Not because she felt less for him than he did for her, but more because she didn't trust herself to know if what she was feeling was truly love. There was still so much in this world she didn't understand, still so much about herself she didn't know, and the last thing she wanted to do was accidentally lie to Kurt about something so important.

Leave it to Oscar to bring it up.

They've been meeting like this, on and off in the middle of the night, for the last six or so months. He picks her up in the same place every time, a block from Kurt's—and now her—building, on a curb that can't be seen from any of the windows in their apartment. They drive for a while, either exchanging information, or sitting in silence. For a while at the beginning, it had just been him giving her instructions, and her giving him semi-reluctant status updates, but more recently things have slowed down. Jane isn't sure if it's because she has more on her mind now, since things with Kurt have been getting more serious, or because this is the part of the plan where things are supposed to slow down, level out. Oscar's been quiet the last few meetings, only parcelling out a sentence or two at the end of each midnight drive, and she has yet to ask him why. Despite the worry, the danger, the chance of getting caught, she's found the drives to be oddly calming. At least with Oscar, there isn't anything to hide—well, not from her end.

They have been driving for about fifteen blocks by the time he finds an open parking space he deems appropriate, into which he pulls in, and puts the car in park. He sits still for a moment, relaxing back into the chair. It's quiet for a minute, two.

"So do you love him?" Oscar asks finally. "Weller?"

Despite herself, despite him, despite knowing the second she received his message that this question would be coming, hearing it aloud still takes her breath away. She glances over to him, expecting to see something there—judgment or anger or pain; _they_ had been in love once, after all—but his face is clear. He's staring straight ahead, out the windshield, frozen in his seat.

She thinks about ignoring the question. She thinks about telling him to mind his own business. But she knows she'll have to face it sometime—either with him, or with Kurt. Better to use this as a dry run, and not throw away the opportunity he's giving her.

"I don't know," she says finally. "I... I'm not totally sure I know what being in love feels like." It takes her a second to remember, to add, "Anymore."

He nods once, and they lapse back into the quiet again.

They sit and wait for a while, listening to the rain start up outside. It's light, peaceful. Hardly more than a drizzle. Jane waits for it to turn into a storm, a fury, just like everything else has in her life these past few months since waking up in Times Square, but the weather doesn't cooperate. The showers fall for a quarter of an hour more, and then they peter out. The clouds break, and the moon shines weakly through the fluorescent glare of the streetlights.

Without a word, Oscar turns the key in the ignition and puts the car back in drive. But before he can pull out onto the road, she reaches a hand over and stops him.

He jumps visibly at the touch, but still doesn't look at her. She can feel a weak tearing in her chest, brought forth from nothing more than seeing his pain and distress and being unable to offer any comfort. She wonders if this phantom pain she feels is the old her, calling out to him. The old her whispering, _I'm still here with you._

"Did I love you?"

The words are out of her mouth before she can really think of the ramifications, or how rude they must sound, and she holds her breath as she watches him close his eyes, and yank the gearshift back into park blindly. The console shakes underneath his force.

He doesn't speak for what feels like an hour. The rain starts and stops and starts again.

"You... said you did," he says finally. Then he opens his eyes, puts the car back in drive, and pulls out onto the street. She listens to the sound of the tires rolling against wet pavement, and keeps her eyes straight ahead. She doesn't know what she'll see, or do, if she looks over at him. She doesn't want to know.

But not looking at his face doesn't stop the guilt from roiling inside her. She knows it isn't necessarily her fault—it's not like she's choosing Kurt over him; she'd already chosen Kurt by the time he showed up, and besides, Oscar is little better than a stranger to her, even after all these months. But still...

"Look," Jane says finally, when they have a forced moment of pause at a red light. "I... I'm sorry this is hard for you. I'm sorry that I... left the way I did, back then. And I'm sorry I made you look after me like this, now. If I could explain it somehow..." She shakes her head, having no rationale, no answer. No connection to that past, or that woman she used to be. Or him. "I understand if you blame me, or—or hate me for all this, but being with him is natural, okay, it's the only thing I have to go on, the only thing I have to hold onto here, and—"

"I don't blame you for being with him," Oscar interrupts quietly, and Jane blinks, too surprised at first to say anything. She turns to look at him, and finds him staring back. In front of them, the red light turns to green, but he doesn't make a move to drive forward. It's late enough, and the streets are empty enough, that no one is behind them to honk.

"I get it," Oscar continues, not looking away from her. "What you're doing with him, it _is_ natural for you, I understand that. I knew..." He breaks off finally, turning away, facing forward again. When he catches sight of the green light, he puts his foot on the gas again.

Jane holds her tongue as long as she can.

"You knew what?" she asks finally, as they slide down one street and onto the other, the wet pavement splashing beneath the tires. "You knew that I'd... What, that I'd end up with him?"

Without taking his eyes off the road, Oscar nods once. "It was a possibility."

"'A possibility,'" Jane echoes, not liking the sound of those words, nor the calm way he said them. It sounded as if... "Wait. Did we plan for this or something? Did you and I—"

"We investigated every outcome, every course of action you might feel compelled to take once your memory was gone," Oscar cuts in quietly, switching smoothly from one lane to the other to make a quick left. "We understood that you would feel vulnerable and would want to gravitate towards something—someone—familiar. We... We decided that it would be appropriate, if it were Weller."

"You mean _I_ decided that would be appropriate."

Oscar says nothing, but the way his hands tighten ever so slightly on the steering wheel is enough of an answer.

Jane leans over the console, wanting his full attention, and wishing he wasn't driving so she could have it. "You blame me for what I did, don't you? For what I... decided?"

"No. I do not blame you." His answer in this instance, unlike all the others, is immediate. Practiced. It sets her on edge. She wonders how long he spent in front of a mirror, rehearsing these words so they would sound true when he finally had to say them to her face.

"Oscar."

He swallows at the sound of his name on her lips, and glances briefly in her direction. "I said I wouldn't," he whispers. "I knew the deal. I knew you had to do whatever it took. I promised I wouldn't blame you."

"I didn't ask what you promised me, Oscar," Jane presses quietly.

"I understood my role," he repeats, his voice harder now, as if trying to convince himself, trying to drown her out. "I signed up to be the third wheel. That was the job; that _is_ the job. I stand on the sidelines and I make sure you're okay, and I give you the information you need, and that's me. That's all I am now."

" _Why_? Why would you do that? If you loved me, why—"

He turns his head briefly, catching her eye. He almost looks like he's going to laugh, but the sharp pain she can see in his eyes doesn't let him. "If I loved you, why _wouldn't_ I do it?"

It's her turn to be quiet for a while. She stays silent, staring out her passenger window, as he turns through the deserted, half-dark streets. It isn't until they're back at the start, at their specified pick-up and drop-off location just a block from Weller's apartment, that she speaks.

"You're being awfully selfless about all this."

He shakes his head slowly. "No. Not really."

She glances over at him, but he makes no move to elaborate, just stares out the windshield like usual.

"Well," Jane says after a moment. "I should probably get back."

"Right."

"Um... Have a good night."

He nods absentmindedly to that, and she figures it's best to just leave him be. She opens her door, and is about to step out, when his voice calls her back.

"Can I ask you something?"

She turns, half-out of her seat. "Sure." _Least I can do_ , she thinks, biting back a frown.

"What do you tell him, when you get back from these meetings with me? When he wakes up and you're not there in bed with him... Do you use the same lie every time?"

Jane stares, feeling her heart pick up in her chest. She can't tell if this is a threat or not. Or more of his unselfishness. Or simple curiosity?

"I don't lie," she answers. "Well—I haven't had to yet, at least. He hasn't noticed."

Oscar's head bobs in a weak nod, his eyes falling from the spot on the windshield he'd been staring at so intently. "Well. You better start thinking up plausible stories. At some point he _is_ going to notice, and the boyfriend won't want to hear you're out meeting with the ex-fiancé in the middle of the night."

Jane presses her lips together, finally getting to her feet. "Yeah," she mutters over her shoulder. "I'll be sure to get right on that, Oscar."

She catches a flash of his grin as she turns away, and it is so unknown, so foreign, that she can't help spinning back to face him. "What—?"

But he's shaking his head again, pushing her away once more. "Nothing," he whispers. He's still smiling, though it's fading fast now. "You just sounded like you used to for a moment there. It was... It was nice."

Before Jane can say anything, he puts the car in drive, and reaches over a hand to shut the passenger door. "Night, Jane," he calls just before he pulls away. He doesn't wait to hear her goodnight; doesn't wait for anything. He just drives away, and she watches until he disappears down the street, as if he'd never even been there in the first place. She turns, and looks up at Kurt's apartment building, her eyes lingering on the fifth floor where they live. She knows that, even if she were to tell Kurt the truth, he wouldn't believe her. Sometimes even she isn't sure if these midnight meetings are reality.

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 **A/N** : Thoughts would be lovely! Thanks for reading. :)


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